


A Kiss On The Scar Where

by CloudDreamer



Series: Demon Eyes [1]
Category: Dr Carmilla (Musician)
Genre: Dieselpunk, F/F, Lesbians..., Second Kiss, Self-Hatred, Stimming, The Siren Saga, real we know the devil vibes here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: Once upon a time, before the beginning and the end of everything, Carmilla had a home to go back to.Title from "Daughter of God" by PhemieC.
Relationships: Loreli/Dr Carmilla
Series: Demon Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698556
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	A Kiss On The Scar Where

They sit on the edge of the river. The early evening is the closest the air ever is to clear, and they can make out the outlines of towering buildings off in the distance. They pretend the sludge that drowns the once-beautiful water isn't there, pretend the world is lovely and there's nothing so painfully real to choke on. 

The edge of their fingers are so close to touching but not quite there yet. Carmilla can feel the electric pull of Loreli’s skin, and she knows Loreli can feel it too, after everything that passed between them in the dark of the shelter, but it’s like saying anything in the light of the moon will burn their fragile new bond away. 

But they can’t hide it entirely. There’s a new fervor to their whispered words, held behind layers of hesitancy and fear, and the longing they used to burry rushes to the surface with every incidental touch. They sneak glances at each other, and when their eyes meet at the same time, they laugh, like they’ve both been caught doing something forbidden. Except there’s nobody here but them. Nobody to judge them, nobody to stop them. 

Carmilla feels like a fly caught in honey. Every moment is sweet, and she’s swimming not to get trapped in it but already too far gone. Butterflies dance in her stomach, pulling her this way and that, and she can’t stop seeing the curve of Loreli’s spine beneath her oversized, hand me down shirt, the gentle light reflecting off her gentle face, her scarred and callused hands… 

She chews on her lip, not even noticing until she tries to stop it. She drums her fingertips against the ground instead, only on the hand that’s not close to Loreli because she doesn’t want that to be seen. This is supposed to be a peaceful moment, and it is— she wants to stay here forever, but everything about her is movement. She can’t stop herself. 

They talk about nothing, and everything at the same time. The specific words slip away from Carmilla like a tear in the breeze as soon as they leave her mouth, she’s so absorbed in the curve of Loreli’s lips, and soon enough, the distance between them is smaller and smaller. They can’t, not now, not here, but they’re close enough that it seems like that doesn’t matter. As long as they don’t say it, as long as nobody sees, they’re free.

They’re never going to be free. There’s always a rusty camera threateningly to blink on with that telltale red light, just in the corner of its alien lens, about to tell their story to the world. They’re always one step out of sync with the rest of the world, belonging to each other and everything that has to mean, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be dragged back to reality, violently. 

But for now, this is a dream, and Loreli is all the colors Carmilla will never see. She is the blue of the untouched sky, the warm green of meadows, and the pink of flowers peaking through the grass. Her soft laugh is a wind chime in a breeze that doesn’t sting of chemicals. If she could, Carmilla would pick Loreli up and carry her home, carry her to a world where nothing hurt and they didn’t need to run, but there’s no where like that. No where on this world or the next. 

So they have to be each other’s safety. It’s never perfect. They can’t stop the pain, and there’s always those times where they have to make a choice between survival and the other’s pain. They’d both rather take it all than let the other suffer, but they’re only human. There’s only so much they can take. When they have each other, it’s two against the world, and the world is so much bigger than they can even begin to comprehend. 

On a rare clear night like this, they look to the stars, and they imagine other possibilities, ways to escape the fate they’re sure is written there. 

Loreli hums the harmony to their song, and Carmilla realizes she’s tapping out the beat. Instead of forcing her hand to still, she lets the melody course through them, adding her soft lilt to the lullaby. 

“If someone was to tell you,” she says, eventually, when the music has died, “that they love you, then they’d tell you it everyday.” 

“And if someone was to tell you that they love you,” Loreli replies, her smile soft and so damned kind despite everything the two of them have seen, have done, have had done to them, “then they’d say you deserve to love yourself.” 

“This hypothetical person, they’d tell you that you’re too good for her. That you deserve someone as good as you.” 

“And she’d deserve someone as strong as her.” 

“She’s not strong, though,” Carmilla says, her heart skipping beat after beat. Her head starts to hurt, and she barely keeps from reaching up to massage her temple. She coughs, and she hates how it makes her sound, hates how out of control of her own body she is, but Loreli still looks at her with that adoration. “She’s always scared.” 

“But it doesn’t stop her.” 

“Only because she has someone to fight for.” 

“Someone to love,” Loreli continues, and her cheeks are softly flushed. Subtle, hard to tell, but Carmilla knows Loreli’s tells more than she knows the back of her hand. They’re more than familiar. “That person who loves her back, maybe she knows that. Maybe she’s okay with it.” 

“She doesn’t understand,” Carmilla breathes. At some point, those hands that were deliberately inches apart laced together, and they’re holding each other with sticky desperation. “She doesn’t think she can understand.” 

“It’s okay. She’ll tell her everyday, forever, until one day, maybe she’ll forget to be scared.” 

“I don’t know if that’ll ever happen. If I’ll ever be good enough.” 

“It’s just a story, Carmilla,” Loreli whispers, and their lips are so close to touching right now, if she just leans forward, then, “it doesn’t mean anything, unless…”

“Unless we want it to,” she finishes, and the spots of gold in Loreli's eyes have never looked more like constellations then they do now, “and…”

“She wants…”

-

"Forever and a day," Loreli promises. 

"Forever and a day," Carmilla swears.


End file.
